


Make Your Own Luck

by Nillegible



Series: Percy Weasley Fics [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After he spends a lot of time imperiused, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Percy Weasley, But no more intensely than in canon, Imperius Curse (Harry Potter), POV Percy Weasley, Spy Percy Weasley, Undercover Percy Weasley, Watch out for reaction to mind control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:08:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nillegible/pseuds/Nillegible
Summary: Some time in his second year of working at the ministry, after his promotion, Percy Weasley is ambushed on the way to his flat by Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks. They drag him into an empty muggle flat, and force feed him a drop of a highly controlled, near-illegal potion: Felix felicis.(AU Where Percy joins the order midway through OOTP)
Series: Percy Weasley Fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385062
Comments: 14
Kudos: 182
Collections: Finished111





	Make Your Own Luck

**Author's Note:**

> So, guess what I found in the doc for an MDZS fic beacause of a tumblr tag game? This one was supposed to lead to a Percy/Remus/Tonks threesome (I think that'd be a gorgeous threesome, honestly) but the middle of OOTP is an awful place for any romance whatsoever so I'm scrapping that. This fic is about what could have happened during the beginning of Goblet of Fire - all the way to the point where he joins the OOTP!

Their current mission had taken nearly two weeks to plan, and Remus waits in tense silence, paying close attention to the monitoring charms that will indicate when Tonks has cleared the threshold of the building, and he should ambush the person they’re here for.

It’s a good thing that he and Tonks were the ones assigned to this mission, they both knew Percy well enough, as his once DADA teacher and his senior prefect, and both of them knew not to underestimate him.

The charms chime, audible only to his ears, and he counts out the agreed upon seven seconds (the time that it usually takes for him to reach the stairs leading up to the second floor, where his flat is) and Remus slips out of the shadows, wand out and casting.

With Tonks coming up behind Percy to block off a retreat (and heavily warded so Remus doesn’t curse her by accident), it’s only a matter of a few thrown curses, two dodged, before Percy is stunned and falling backwards.

Tonks levitates him up the stairs and onto his floor, though they ignore his flat in favour of the one at the end of the hall, belonging to a muggle couple on a month-long backpacking trip in the Himalayas that they had broken into earlier that week.

Setting Percy down on the couch, Tonks hold out a hand. “You have the potion?”

“Of course I have the potion, you think I took it because I was feeling bored?” He hands over the tiny vial of felix felicis, containing just a single drop. Just enough for maybe five minutes of luck, but if they’re right, that should be more than enough for their purposes.

“Warding circle in case this goes wrong?” she asks.

“I’ll cast the moment you clear it,” says Remus. “Just warn me as you do.”

“Right. Right, here goes, Remus,” she says, and tips the single golden drop of potion into Percy’s mouth, and not so smoothly but quickly steps back enough that Remus can set up a warding circle. Sticking the tip of her wand through the blue barrier, Tonks casts _ennervate._

Now for the _really_ dangerous part of this mission.

It’s risky, using Felix Felicis on someone under the Imperius, but the going theory was that as long as the person within was truly fighting, the burst of good luck and Felix would be able to help snap the person out of the Imperius. If they were _wrong,_ or the imperius went too deep, then the Felix Felicis would just help further that mission, and for the five minutes until the luck potion ran out, they’d be hard pressed just to protect themselves fighting against a person with incredible luck on their side.

Percy stirs, and Remus grips his wand tight, breathes evenly, and relaxes his muscles. They can do this. But instead of seeking his wand (safely in Tonks’ back pocket), Percy just sits up and buries his face in his hands.

“Percy?” asks Tonks.

“Tonks?” he asks, looking up. The blue of the ward-sphere reflects in his eyes, and then he looks back down.

“Felix says I should just be good and sit here for a few minutes and everything will be okay,” says Percy.

“It will, Percy, Felix is right. You just hold on, alright?”

“Okay,” he says.

The next five minutes are the most anticlimactic of his life. It’s such a _relief._

“Mr. Weasley,” says Remus, dropping the wards but not his guard. “How are you feeling?”

“How did you find out?” he asks. There are faint tremors running up his arms, his hands are shaking.

“It took us a while, but we’ve been suspecting for a few months now. Figuring out what to do about it was harder.”

“I can imagine. I couldn’t throw it off, I didn’t even _try_ at first. How pathetic is that Professor?”

“I’m going to make some tea,” says Tonks. “You boys need to talk,” and vanishes into the kitchen, where the muggles who owned the place had a pretty decent selection of tea.

“Is it really gone?” asks Percy.

“I don’t know. But Dumbledore wished to see you, and if you’re okay with legilimency then he could –”

“Yes, please. I don’t.” He leans forward and clutches his head with both hands.

Remus kneels down in front of him. “Do you need a healer? Pain potion? Calming draught?” he asks.

“ _No,_ nothing else. No more… it was _too quiet,_ professor. So much quiet, no doubts, no _thought._ ”

There’s a loud clatter from the kitchen that makes Percy jump, followed by an “I’m fine! Nothing happened!” from Tonks.

“Can I do anything for you?” asks Remus.

“Are… are my family okay?”

“They’re fine. Your younger siblings are having difficulties with Professor Umbridge, but it’s manageable. Bill is back, and helping your parents out.”

“It wanted me to stay. I had to fight. Mum and Dad wanted to move us into Order headquarters, I had to fight so I could leave. I got a promotion.”

“You did,” says Remus, just as Tonks comes back in with a steaming cup of tea.

“Thank you, Tonks, but I can’t right now,” says Percy, not taking it from her hands. He looks down at Remus. “Now what, Professor?”

“Now, if you’re ready, we go talk to Professor Dumbledore. But if you need more time, or something else, we can wait, and do that first.”

“No, let’s see Professor Dumbledore,” says Percy. “Please. I want to know that it’s gone.”

Remus thinks it’s gone, those still under the imperius curse and fighting it were rarely so lucid when speaking of it, they tended to ramble, speak in fragmented pieces in the few stolen moments of clarity, and it took great effort to do so.

Percy Weasley, hunched and exhausted, seems to have broken out completely.

Remus takes out the small toy motorcycle that’s been charmed as a portkey – unauthorized, of course – and holds it out on the palm of his hand. Percy sets his hand in his. He whispers the activating phrase, and with a jerk, they’re being carried away.

“Ah, welcome, Mr. Lupin and Mr. Weasley,” says Dumbledore, the moment they land heavily in his office. “Please, sit down. Are you well, Mr. Weasley?” The old headmaster looks exactly the same as always, snowy white hair, colourful robes, a twinkle in the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.

It’s such a _relief,_ and Percy can feel relief as well as worry, and fear, which is such a strange thing after the weeks spent in a comforting haze of purpose and certainty. “I am, sir. Am I… am I out of it now?”

“You are, Mr. Weasley. The liquid luck seems to have been enough to give you an opening to break out of the curse on your own.”

“You’ve _checked?_ ” he asks, just to make sure. He can’t… He can’t go through that again, he wouldn’t be able to _bear_ it.

“I have,” says Professor Dumbledore solemnly. Oh, okay then. Dumbledore wouldn’t lie… about that. He was powerful, he was a legilimens, but most importantly, he wouldn’t want someone imperiused by a Death Eater working at the Ministry, even though he hated the current minister and his supporters.

“Thank you,” he says. He’s not sure what else he’s here for, but he’s willing to wait until they explain it to him. Percy probably doesn’t deserve to make any decisions of his own, not after his stupidity had led to the death of his boss, and the return of the Dark Lord.

“Mr. Weasley, would you be able to tell us how and when you happened to get imperiused? You do not need to, but the Order would be glad for the information.”

Percy nods. Of course, he can do that. Keeping his gaze firmly down at the large desk between them, he speaks. “It was… I think late January of this year. Mr. Crouch had sent me to attend the Yule Ball in his place, but then he didn’t come to work even after. My colleagues at work were surprised that he was working from home for so long, but decided he was getting old, no longer had a house-elf, and that as long as his work was done well it hardly mattered.

“But it _wasn’t_ being done well, I had to redo most of the things he sent in or they would not meet _anyone’s_ standards, let alone Mr. Crouch’s. I was… I was worried for him, and thought that if it was an illness that caused some form of neural degeneration, I thought that medical intervention, even if Mr. Crouch found it embarrassing, could at least save his incredible mind. He was a _very_ intelligent person, Professor, and the scrolls and reports he sent in were _appalling._ ” Percy looks up at Dumbledore, for a moment, and seeing nothing he can identify, quickly looks back down.

“He was the one who opened his door. He didn’t have a house-elf anymore, and he was getting to be an old man. He didn’t look well.” Percy remembers feeling a moment of compassion for his boss, the underappreciated person who was one of the best administrators that the Ministry had. Mr. Crouch had opened and closed his mouth several times, eyes bulging a little, before he finally managed to say, “Weatherby. Come inside,” and he’d followed him in.

He’d been disarmed almost the instant he entered the dimly lit entry way, silver cords wrapping around his arms and legs that no non-verbal vanishing or cutting spell he tried seemed to work at dispelling.

Oh right, he’s supposed to be telling them this, not reliving it. He forces himself to speak. “They got me the moment I entered. Disarmed and bound. Dragged me further inside. I don’t think Mr. Crouch’s son was there, only Peter Pettigrew, and an ugly, disfigured homunculus that was watching, and did not speak.

“I didn’t know that it contained the Dark Lord’s soul. I would have at least tried a blasting spell if I could, I thought Pettigrew had just run to his cousin’s husband out of desperation. I told him that if he wanted a fair trial for his crimes, that it would be arranged, and that he could request a ministry-appointed barrister to help plead his case. I didn’t realize. I was so _stupid_ ,” he says.

“His cousin’s husband?” asks Professor Lupin, into the ensuing pause.

“Pettigrew’s mother was called Emilia Malkin, before she married Mr. Pettigrew, she was Mrs. Crouch’s cousin. She was born Mary Malkin, to a Mr. Andrew Malkin and Lucinda Abbott.”

There’s complete silence for a while, so Percy chances another look at Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore. They look stunned.

“Does that matter?” he asks.

“How did you find that out?” asks Professor Lupin.

That… wasn’t the line of questioning that he expected, but alright. It was even easier to answer this, although Percy had ended up outsmarting himself with it. “I researched Peter Pettigrew, after Ron told me what happened to Scabbers. I thought, if he had family alive, it would be a terrible shock for them to know the son they thought had died a heroic death was alive, and a Death Eater. So I looked it up. His father was dead before Pettigrew faked his death, but his mother only died three years ago. Not much family there, the closest relative I could track down was Mrs. Crouch, who had died shortly after her son died in Azkaban.”

“Leaving Mr. Crouch his only living relative,” says Professor Dumbledore.

“I didn’t know his son was still alive, so I assumed so. I didn’t think Mr. Crouch would protect him! He put his own son in Azkaban, I knew he was a good man! But when I saw Pettigrew at his house… I also didn’t think it was impossible.”

“Tell us what happened next, Mr. Weasley,” says Professor Dumbledore.

“Veritaserum. They questioned me, found out everything that I knew. They kept asking what the ministry employees thought about Mad-Eye Moody recently, but I didn’t know anything. I was so new at work. Then Pettigrew imperiused me, and sent me away.”

That last was something that Percy could only identify now, he remembers how afraid he had been, trying and pleading with Pettigrew to turn himself in, they wouldn’t hurt him, Mr. Crouch could ensure it. Answering their bizarre questions under the strange haze that Veritaserum brought, terrified for his life, confused beyond belief at Mr. Crouch’s actions and hazily concluding that Pettigrew had his boss under an imperius curse. And then nothing, the haze had been replaced with a cottony soft, eerie emptiness, and the soft command to forget everything that happened that day, to go back to work because Mr. Crouch was _fine,_ just a little under the weather. Work Hard and do your best, Mr. Crouch needs you.

“Why didn’t they use memory charms?”

“I don’t know. But I didn’t remember until now… I don’t think they thought I’d break out of it.” He really wouldn’t have, he’d needed an intervention to find the strength. “Thank you,” he says. “For saving me. I didn’t know Felix Felicis could cancel out the effects of an imperius curse.”

“It doesn’t always, Mr. Weasley. If you hadn’t been desperately fighting the spell off yourself, Felix wouldn’t have helped. You deserve much of the credit. It is exceedingly difficult to throw off an imperius curse cast by someone who knows you well.”

For a second he’s taken aback by the idea of _knows you well,_ but it was true, wasn’t it? _Scabbers._

_Ten years together, the quiet confessions that he made to the little rodent that he rescued, about his parents, his brothers, the way he curled up in his hand and rubbed his cheek against his fingers like he cared._

He pushes that all away, just nods once to show that he understood. He does, he just doesn’t think it was worth it.

“If I hadn’t gone myself, if I’d asked aurors to check on them… They might have saved Mr. Crouch. And killed Pettigrew and the homunculus. That’s on me.”

“No, it was not your fault to seek someone out to ask after their well-being. It wasn’t your fault for assuming that Pettigrew may be repentant, or willing to stand trial. Those were perfectly normal things to think, Mr. Weasley. Please don’t blame yourself.”

Percy nods again, still dubious. Best to move the conversation on, though. “Do… do my family know that I was-?”

“They are not yet aware,” says Dumbledore. “Please don’t hold it against them. It was a busy, frightening time for everyone.”

“No, I. I know that. I remember… I kept trying to stay away from them. Eventually picked a fight and fled. I had to, it was the only way to save them. I couldn’t break out of the curse, but I could _twist_ it, if staying home meant I couldn’t keep my head down and do my best at work, I could leave.”

“That was very well done, Mr. Weasley. At the time the Order had not yet realized. If you hadn’t left by yourself, the Death Eaters would have known the location of the Order’s headquarters, and so much else. Your quick thinking is commendable.”

It’s almost nice to be praised, though it feels hollow. He should have done more. He should have found a way to stop it.

The silence hangs for a long moment, and Percy breaks it with, “What now?”

“Now, you can return to your home to speak to your parents. Mr. Lupin could come with you to vouch for you, if you think it is necessary.”

That’s not what Dumbledore wants him to pick though, he’d be little use there. “Or I could turn informant for the Order,” he says, softly.

“No, Percy, you don’t have to do that,” says Professor Lupin, strangely. “You’ve been through quite an ordeal, and your family miss you very much. You’re only _nineteen_ , you can join the Order later, if you still wish to.”

“The ministry knows everyone who’s loyal to Professor Dumbledore. They know I’m not, and they’re right. I believe you, sir. But I’m not… loyal. I can provide you with information that pertains to Death Eater activity undermining actual ministry efforts from the minister’s own private meetings. I have to do this.”

“You could do both, Mr. Weasley. This is not an either-or situation. You may go home, apologize to your mother for frightening her, and then turn order informant.”

He wants to say okay, he _desperately_ wants to say okay, wants to hug Mum and cry, and let her fuss over him and tell him it’s not his fault, and have his brothers tease him over it. He wants to tell his dad that everything he said about their family’s poverty being his fault was true, but that they had something better than money. That he loves him for all of it, and wouldn’t change a thing.

_Mum didn’t even notice something was wrong with you._

_Dad didn’t even ask you to come back._

Percy can’t go back, not now, not like this.

“No,” he says. “It’ll be more convincing if I don’t. I can spy for as long as you need.”

“Very well, Mr. Weasley,” says Professor Dumbledore. “And thank you.”

“Promise me that you won’t tell them?” he asks. “I don’t want them to know. _Whatever_ happens,” he says, meeting that electric blue gaze. _Even if I die,_ he means. _I’d rather not be that person. I’d rather have done it all willingly._

“You want me to promise not to reveal the very best of you, Mr. Weasley?” asks Professor Dumbledore, and there’s something exhausted in his voice. “Perhaps I am no longer willing to bind myself to such promises.”

“ _Please,_ ” he says, panicking.

“Why?” asks Professor Lupin. “Why can’t they know? What about after Voldemort is defeated, why not then?”

“Because it’s easier to forgive people for being wrong than for being right,” he says softly. “They can forgive me for being an ambitious prat who abandoned his family, but not for willingly doing something stupidly dangerous without letting them know.”

“If you’re sure, then I will keep my word not to let your family know,” says Professor Dumbledore.

“I’m sure,” says Percy.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope that you liked it! Somehow I've been growing more and more attached to Percy Weasley. PLease leave a comment if you can; and no, I don't think I'm getting back to writing HP fic any time soon, this was just mostly finished so I thought I'd toss it out there. Have a nice day, and stay safe, everyone!


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